


Dance in the Graveyard

by lukegray (spacebarista)



Category: The Following
Genre: F/M, Littering, Pre-Series, Semi-Public Sex, Sex in the Catacombs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 14:12:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2624735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebarista/pseuds/lukegray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You remember when we played in the catacombs? Six million dead..." Six million witnesses to their "playing".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance in the Graveyard

**Author's Note:**

> You bet your ass I was inspired by Luke's lines to Giselle in the deleted scene. I mean I'm sure he meant actual playing, like tag or something (another fic I have in the works), but I mean it's Luke we're talking about. He could totally mean sex against the wall of the tunnels.

The tunnels are solely lit by their flashlights, but neither mind. They’ve never been bothered by the dark. It’s after tour hours, but with her having lived in Paris for years, she knows ways to get in undetected. They would have gone to one of the lesser used tunnels, but being in the parts tourists _did_ get to see seemed more fun. For what they plan to do, anyway.

 

They’re holding hands. They can’t in the streets above; Mother wouldn’t approve, and they aren’t really the type for constant public displays of affection. Sure, it can be fun. But it is more fun employed to provoke jealousy occasionally, or to be kept just between them. Their private affections. Honestly, she is truly happy with the arrangement. His gentle touch, his tender words, his _adoration_ for her… they are all _hers_. No one gets to see or experience them but her. That’s what makes it special.

 

What makes what they plan to do now special.

 

They each plant their flashlight on one side of the tunnel, the two cylinders almost facing each other. It’s enough that they can see each other clearly. But not too much else. Just them. Just as they like it. Well…

 

Them and the millions of dead left to their rest in the catacombs beneath the city.

 

He pins her to the wall, hands on her wrists and mouth on hers, and she feels more than a few bones dig into her back and shoulders. She hums, kissing him back with vigor. It’s been too long since they’ve been able to get away from Mark and Lily. Their mother finds many ways to keep them busy while she does her own work in the city: checking in with contacts, eliminating a threat or two, transferring money to different accounts, and shopping for fanciful things to take back to Stanford. Tonight, it was one task, and Mark promised to take care of it himself. He was tired of dealing with the two of them.

 

He moves her hands above her head and holds both her wrists with one hand. His other moves down to work at the button of her jeans. She’s always marveled at the size of his hands. Almost big enough to seem exaggerated. But they’re not. They’re large and warm and strong and he holds both her thin wrists easily in just one. She’s been with him through growth spurts, and sometimes thought of him as a puppy who didn’t grow quite as fast as his paws did. He presses his lips even harder against hers, bumping her head a tad too hard against a skull.

 

“Sorry,” he mutters, pulling back and slipping his free hand behind her head. He only apologizes to three people. And rarely does he mean it. “You okay?”

 

“I’m fine, Luke.” She pecks his lips, straining against his grip. “We don’t have much time, so let’s get on with it, hm?”

 

Luke stares at her, as if searching her face for something. She wonders what he sees when he smiles. He leans in and kisses her again.

 

“ _Oui_ , Giselle.”

 

His hand gently slips down from behind Giselle’s hair and back to her waistband. She tilts her hips in his direction and he easily gets the button undone. He shoves the tight garment down her legs, along with her panties, and she kicks them both away. He leans in and she catches his mouth with hers, again pulling against his grip. He growls into the kiss, his free hand pushing her sweater up to her neck and brushing against her soft skin. Her skin tingles where he touches her.

 

Luke takes advantage of the bra with the front clasp that Giselle chose to wear (for ease of removal) and unhooks it single-handedly, letting it fall open. Giselle shivers as cool air makes contact with her breasts. Her nipples harden, but then Luke bends down and takes one in his mouth and the cold disappears. She moans, vaguely wishing she could hold his head there. His grip on her wrists stays tight as he sucks at her skin. He switches to her other breast, and she squirms with a whimper. It feels good. It feels _amazing_. Like taking a drink of water after spending a dry day in the sun. It’s been too long, and this is her reward.

 

But she’s getting cold. And time is running short.

 

“Luke,” she gasps. “Luke, please. _Please_.”

 

The man straightens, panting and smirking. Giselle huffs. Of course he’s proud of himself. He usually is. He releases her shirt and leans in to kiss her again. His newly freed hand trails down her side to her bare hip before slipping between her legs to trace over her. She gasps into his mouth, and she feels him smirk again. He pushes a finger into her, drawing out another gasp. It’s shallow at this angle— _not enough_ —but once she’s ready for him, it won’t matter. She strains her shoulders as she tries to rock her hips. He doesn’t release her wrists.

 

Luke continues to move his finger within her, and soon adds a second. It’s still not enough, but it gets Giselle panting when Luke gives her chances to breathe. They kiss like it’s been years, rather than hours. They can’t kiss like this with Lily in close proximity. Down here, it is only the two of them and the dead. And the dead can’t judge.

 

Luke adds a third finger. Giselle moans loudly, and it echoes through the tunnels. Luke chuckles, kissing her lightly.

 

“Careful, _ma belle_ ,” he coos, his long fingers stroking a _lovely_ spot within her. Her eyes flutter shut and he nips her jaw. “We don’t want to wake anyone, do we?”

 

She grins herself. “Why? Don’t want an audience? I thought you were _proud_ of your skills, _mon cher_ …”

 

Luke growls softly and thrusts his fingers hard into her. She cries out, and he cuts the sound off with a kiss. It feels good, really. They are rough with each other more often than not. They enjoy it; they can take it. It’s not good enough. She wants _him_ , not his (admittedly deliciously) long fingers. She wants to be taken by him, one with him… and she’s sure he knows it. He leans close so his lips brush hers with every syllable.

 

“I am proud, _ma belle_. And I plan to show you just how proud I am.”

 

Giselle smiles and he kisses her soundly. She fights against his grip as she tries to get closer. His gaze flicks up to their hands, and he finally releases her. One of her hands moves to tangle in his hair, left loose after a shower, the other reaching into his pocket for his wallet. She’s stolen it hundreds of times: to mock him, to impress him, to ease her boredom. This time, he smiles against her lips. He’d stashed a condom inside the folded leather and she wants to get it before she makes him take his pants off. The wallet gets tossed away with her jeans, and Luke reaches between them to undo his own.

 

As soon as Luke’s shoved his pants and briefs down, Giselle tears the wrapper open and reaches between them. He hisses at her touch, drawing a satisfied grin from her. She rolls the condom on as slowly as she can. If he wasn’t hard _before_ she touched him, he certainly is _now_. She hums as she finishes, letting her knuckles brush his belly. Luke growls and Giselle finds herself against the wall again. She lifts one leg to hook around his and pulls him in flush against her. They both groan. He’s hard against her; she can feel almost every inch of him and it’s _so close_ to what she needs. It really has been too long for the both of them. She’s not sure how much longer she can wait.

 

She doesn’t have to.

 

Luke grabs her thighs and lifts her, leaving Giselle to hold onto his shoulders until her back is supported by the dead once more. Luke kisses her lazily, taking advantage of her newly gained height as she wraps her legs around his hips. Luke shifts carefully, lining himself up with her. He rests his forehead on hers, brushes his nose against hers. She smiles.

 

A little tenderness before a fuck never hurt anyone.

 

Luke thrusts hard into her. Giselle gasps as bone digs into her back and Luke stretches her. It feels so good. He pauses, giving her a chance to adjust and himself a moment to relish the feel of her cunt around him. They meet eyes, blue to brown. Luke breaks first, laughing softly. Giselle joins him. It’s absurd, but they never did anything too seriously. It wouldn’t be _fun_ if they did. She pecks his lips and slips a hand into his hair. He smiles against her lips.

 

And then he’s moving, pulling out of her and rocking back in. Giselle lets her head fall back against a skull, sighing. It’s cliché, but she can’t think of him as anything but _perfect_. Especially when he’s inside her (or, preferably, going down on her). He buries his face in her neck, trying to muffle himself so he can just listen to her. The idiot. Always taking pride in how _he_ makes her feel. She clings to him. She longs to feel his muscles working under his skin, to admire how he moves. But clothes are in the way and Luke is far too focused on fucking her into the bones.

 

Giselle cries out as Luke shifts them, hitting her at a different angle. She feels sweat beading in her hair and down her back, as well as Luke’s despite the chill. She rakes her nails against his scalp and kisses his hair. He makes a soft sound. Almost like a whimper. She smiles through her panting.

 

“Oh, _mon amour_ ,” she coos, her breath hitching as he rocks his hips against hers again. It’s hard to think or speak in English. “You feel so good. _So—_ ” He thrusts hard, and she chokes out a moan.

 

Luke lifts his head from her shoulder and kisses her roughly. He nips at her lip. She tastes blood.

 

“Shut up,” he growls. “That’s not what I want to hear from you.” He keeps the force of his thrusts up, drawing moans and whimpers and all sorts of sounds from Giselle. She manages to catch him straining to keep quiet. He’s never been very good at that. Groans and soft grunts escape him and send shivers through Giselle. The bones behind her dig deeper into her skin. She wonders if she’ll bleed. It would be worth it. The pain already is.

 

Giselle feels the familiar tightening low in her belly. She swears softly in French and kisses Luke before pulling his head back down to her shoulder and petting his hair. He doesn’t argue. His movements become jerky and uneven. He’s close too. He’s always obvious about it. Idiot.

 

“Luke,” Giselle whispers in his ear, toying with his hair. She releases his shoulder and sneaks a hand between them. Her knuckles brush against his belly and he falters. “Luke, mon amour… let go. I’ve got you.” She touches her clit and gasps softly, pausing before slowly rubbing it, drawing herself closer. She wants him to come first. He falters again with a choked sound when her fingers gently bump into his cock. “Come on, Luke.”

 

Luke thrusts hard into her one, two, three more times. There’s a sharp pain in the crook of her neck as Luke stills against her with a muffled groan. Giselle rubs her clit faster, gasping, and Luke comes to his senses enough to rock in and out of her. She comes quickly, sighing Luke’s name with her fingers tangled in his hair.

 

They stay still for a moment, catching their breath. Giselle rests her head on the skull behind her and Luke rests his on Giselle’s shoulder. She shivers as the chill touches her damp skin. He presses closer and nuzzles her jaw with a hum.

 

“That was _much_ more fun that tag, I have to admit.”

 

Giselle snorts and presses a kiss to his hair. “I thought you would never admit that fucking down here would beat our old games.”

 

He shrugs, bumping her chin with his shoulder. “I was being difficult. You know I love ruffling your _gorgeous_ feathers.”

 

Luke lifts his head from her shoulder, grinning at her. Giselle rolls her eyes, but leans forward to kiss him anyway. It’s completely gentle, affectionate. They’re capable of it. They just choose not to be. She lingers. But the chill doesn’t cease and she pulls back and tugs on his hair. He gets it. He pulls out slowly, and they both hiss at the loss. He sets her down gently and turns her, inspecting her lower back. Giselle touches her shoulder where she felt the pain when Luke came. It’s tender. She glares in his direction.

 

“Did you _bite_ me?”

 

Luke’s fingers trace over similarly tender spots on her back, gentle on her skin. “I did bite you, yes. Are you bleeding?”

 

She glances at her fingers. “No.”

 

“Then I’m not that sorry.” His hands slide down to massage her ass for a moment. It's nicer than being poked by bones. He pulls her back against him and presses a kiss to the bite. “I’m only a little sorry.”

 

“I’ll have to hide it.”

 

“You’ll live.”

 

Giselle snorts again. “I suppose I will.”

 

They gather their clothes quickly, wanting to ward off the cool air and return to the slightly warmer surface. Luke ties off his condom, glances around in mock caution, and stuffs it in the eye socket of one of the top skulls. He glances at Giselle with a grin, and she rolls her eyes. But she can’t hide her own grin. He hums a jingle to himself as he gets his pants back on

 

Giselle takes their flashlights down once she’s dressed. She hands Luke his and starts to wander back the way they came. Luke grabs her wrist and pulls her back, kissing her once again. When he pulls back, he touches her cheek, letting his thumb brush over the curve of bone beneath the skin.

 

“Wonder if they’re going to haunt us forever?” He nods to the bones behind her.

 

Giselle shrugs with a smile, taking his hand from her face and lacing her fingers with his. “They’re dead. Why should we care?”

 

Luke grins and kisses her one last time before pulling her towards the exit. Giselle watches the shadows cast by the flashlights dance off the bones around them. She’d like to come back for a tour with mother and Mark. To walk past where she and Luke fucked. They could share a secret smile and make vague jokes that the others won’t understand and whisper dirty things to each other about it while trailing behind the group.

 

Because they can’t be this— _them—_ in front of the others, kissing and holding hands, as badly as they’d like to be. But maybe it’s for the best.

  
It just makes it even more special.


End file.
